Plot Twists Short Stories & Hypocrisy Marriage Novels

The first time Silvia Robinson undergoes ECT, she is all alone. Even Gregory Fisher, her fiance who loves her so much, is nowhere to be seen. After the doctor gives her a muscle relaxant, she starts to get drowsy. She is in a daze when she recalls what happened that evening. She has waited three hours in line for a special cake, which she is planning to surprise Gregory with. However, she comes home to see Gregory kissing her younger sister, Ella Robinson. The two are deep in a kiss as they hold each other tightly in an inseparable embrace. The cake in Silvia's hands drops to the floor, smashed beyond recognition as Silvia delivers a slap across Gregory's face. Then, she finds herself being pushed down the stairs by Ella. As she rolls down the stairs, Silvia feels like she has already seen this coming. Anyone close to her will eventually be taken away by her sister.

On the day Julius Robles's arch-nemesis, Yvette Silva, is released from prison, I—five months pregnant—am dragged into an alley by a group of street thugs. By the time he finds me, I'm beaten black and blue. I've miscarried, and my uterus has been so severely damaged that it has to be surgically removed. Consumed by rage, Julius severs Yvette's tendons in her limbs, dragging her before me to kneel and beg for my forgiveness. From then on, the underworld kingpin of Marisport washes his hands of the life of crime and devotes himself to doing good. He gets a vasectomy of his own accord and adopts a boy and a girl from the orphanage. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, Bee." Everything comes crashing down when a stranger shows up at my doorstep. "Bianca Montes, just because you can't conceive doesn't mean you have the right to steal my sister's children!" Before I have time to process his words, he forces me into a car and speeds straight to Kestrel. When we arrive, my adopted children, Elijah Robles and Emma Robles, are clinging to Yvette and calling her "Mom". Yvette giggles as she nestles into Julius' arms. "What do you think Bianca would do if she found out the children are ours? Maybe I should just tell her you think she's filthy. That's the reason you can't get enough of me in my bed." His eyes are bloodshot as he grips her chin. "Keep your mouth shut, and I'll stay with you for another two weeks." The very next second, he lowers his head and kisses Yvette, and what follows is a night of passion. My phone chimes softly. Julius has sent me a message on WhatsApp. "The company's major project has been delayed for another half a month. There's no one to look after the kids at Kestrel, so I had the nanny take them home first." I feel as though I've been plunged into an icy abyss, tears streaming down my face. All his attempts to make things right are nothing but a cruel joke all along. After wiping away my tears, I book a one-way flight out of the country.

On the day Mom's condition turned critical, I stared at the mounting hospital bill and called my husband. He didn't even hesitate. Half a million dollars appeared in my account within minutes. But when I tried to use it, the transfer was frozen — pending review. It never cleared. Not even by the time Mom was wheeled into surgery. I crouched in the hospital hallway and called him again and again. No one picked up. On the seventieth call, he finally answered. "Honey! They're starting the surgery. Mom's in so much pain right now. I'm begging you." All I got back was the flat drone of a dropped call. I waited. And waited. I waited long enough to receive Mom's death notice. I waited long enough to see what his secretary had posted: a photo of a necklace worth a fortune, wrapped around her neck. [One offhand "I like it," and Mr. Gilmer wired me half a million dollars just like that. [Guess this wild little kitten finally found the collar that fits.] Robert Gilmer finally deigned to call me back. "Accounting still needs to sign off on it. Can't your mom wait a little longer?" I looked over at my own mother, standing right there beside me outside the operating room, very much alive. And that was when it hit me. He'd thought the one dying was my mother.

On our wedding night, Timothy Soloman tossed a pack of contraceptive pills at me once it was over. "Amanda, you can't get pregnant." My brows knitted together. "But there's nothing wrong with my body." He shook his head. "That's not why. "I have a son. He's already five. I married you, but I also promised her there wouldn't be a second child." I felt like I'd been dropped into an ice cellar, my whole body shaking without end. "Who is she? Why are you telling me this only now?" I asked. "The girl you used to sponsor, the one who couldn't afford her tuition. She's been clinging to me, and I can't shake her loose. "But don't worry. You're the only one in my heart. You will always be my lawfully wedded wife; no one else." The marks Timothy had left on my body were still there. I looked down at the glaring red streaks across my skin, and I almost wanted to laugh at how absurd it all was. "Timothy," I said. "Let's get a divorce."

Three years after my husband, George Martins, cheated and begged to come home, I cheated too. He rushed home to find me lying on our marital bed. My skin was covered in fresh love bite marks and dark bruises. "George, no wonder you cheated on me so many times. "I get it now. It feels amazing." George's eyes snapped wide. His gaze turned bloodshot. He grabbed my throat and slammed me into the mattress. "Clara, do you really hate me this much? "I came home! I became the perfect husband! What more do you want from me?" He wasn't lying. For three years, he did everything to make me feel safe. He handed over his phone every night. He video-called me every five minutes whenever he left the house. He knew his infidelity made my skin crawl. Every time he wanted intimacy, he scrubbed his body three times and disinfected himself five times. My fingertips trembled. I stared straight into his eyes. "Your body came back, but what about your mind? "Every time you get drunk, you scream Maya's name! Every dress you buy me is a white gown she would wear! “You bring home her favorite roses on our anniversary! Even the anniversary ring you bought me was fitted to her finger! "You cut physical ties with her, but you're forcing me to turn into her!" George's hand shook against my neck. He forced a twisted smirk. "Clara, you have no right to lecture me now. I cheated, sure. But are you any better?" "We’re both trash. We deserve each other." His shameless words turned my three years of silent agony into a complete joke. Exhaustion settled heavy in my chest. I didn't want this marriage anymore.

During the long National Day holidays, I planned a Golden Highlands trip for the whole family. I even booked tickets for a luxurious train ride so we could enjoy the scenery. But on departure day, my husband and son vanished. I called my husband. I could hear an airport boarding announcement in the background. My voice trembled. "Where are you?" He panicked and mumbled that the company had an emergency before hanging up. I tried calling again, but the line was busy. The next day, he posted an update on his social media. In the photo, he stood beneath the snowy peaks of Wintercrown with one arm around his old love while the other held our son. The caption read: [If we had been a little braver back then...] A friend commented: [Where is your wife?] I stared at his reply: [She's sick and resting at home.] Three expired train tickets sat on the table as my eyes welled up with tears. A decade of marriage. A pack of lies. It was time to bring it all to a close.

I've infiltrated into a private group chat called "The Domestication Project". The group owner is in the middle of spamming her experience of her destroying her husband's mental willpower. "I've secretly swapped out my husband's anti-depressants for something else. Every day, I keep telling him that he's a useless, pathetic loser. Once he's hopelessly dependent on me, I'll have him thrown into a mental hospital and take over his company naturally." All the group members keep praising the group owner for being a total professional in gaslighting her husband. Soon, they start asking for her methods and experience. I tap on the photo of an experimental journal that the group owner has just sent. To my shock, the name listed on the mental health report with a diagnosis of severe depression is actually my own! As for the haughty group owner, she's Sophie Hayes, my wife of ten years! Yesterday, that woman told me with red-rimmed eyes that she'd rather go bankrupt just to cure me of my depression! It turns out that her devotion and love toward me for the past ten years is nothing but a grand yet cruel plot to murder me slowly! Since Sophie wants me to get reduced into a lunatic who has lost all of his marbles, then I shall put on an insane show for her. After that, I lock the doors in the mansion and dump the gasoline that I've just bought all over the living room.

When I get married to Zachary Lennor, I know that he has a younger, depressed sister who's a huge pain in the ass. On our wedding night, she suddenly barges into our room with the excuse that she's terrified of the dark. That's why she wants Zachary to sleep with her. When I get hospitalized due to my illness and need Zachary to take care of me, his sister insists that he go home to eat all three meals with her every day. Otherwise, she'll go on a hunger strike. Even when Zachary and I are on a date, his sister will call him immediately, claiming that her depression is acting up. If he doesn't go home right away, she will jump off a building without hesitation. Unable to take it anymore, I unleash my anger on Zachary's sister. But Zachary is quick to shield her from my ire. With an icy expression, he tells me, "I only have one sister, whereas I can always get myself another wife. If you can't stomach her presence at all, we'll get a divorce right now." I keep tossing and turning in bed at night, unable to sleep at all. That's when I decide to get out of bed just so I can apologize to Zachary and his sister. As soon as I walk to the doorway, I hear a familiar voice whining from the master suite, where Zachary stays. "Zach, since Samantha got so mad at me today, does this mean she's found out that I'm not your actual sister at all, but your ex-wife?" Zachary pauses momentarily before saying reassuringly, "Even if she does, it's fine. Although I do love her, I've already vowed to stay with you forever the day I married you. "So, even though we're already divorced, I will still keep my word. I won't let you go." At that moment, I finally realize that Zachary's so-called younger sister is just a fake identity. Her depression is also a big fat lie. I'm the only one who's been kept in the dark about everything in this performance. In that case, I'm not going to humor these jerks anymore.

I begged my husband for weeks before he finally agreed to come with me to my prenatal appointment. The whole time, he just stood there with his hands buried in his pockets, watching me coldly as I handled everything on my own—paying the bills, checking in at the front desk, running around like crazy until I was completely overwhelmed. The second I walked into the exam room, he vanished into thin air. And to top it off, he took off in my car, leaving me to take the bus home by myself. As soon as I got on the bus, my phone buzzed. He'd sent me a screenshot of a receipt: [Companionship fee: 50 dollars] [Round-trip gas: 7 dollars] [Total: 57 dollars] There was also a voice message attached. "Our marriage is strictly fifty-fifty. What does your pregnancy checkup have to do with me? Why should I give up my day off to go to the hospital with you?" Listening to that icy message, I suddenly remembered the way he once got down on his knees in front of me, begging me to help pay for his education. I was so angry, I just started laughing. Fine then. If this was a fifty-fifty marriage, it was time to settle the score!

On the morning of the day my fiance, Anton Solomon, and I are scheduled to start our destination wedding trip, he finally rushes to the airport straight from the office. Just seconds before boarding, he receives an urgent message from his female secretary, Callie Lawrence. "I'm sorry, honey. A major project just came in, and I need to be there to approve it. "Could you go ahead and start the trip on your own? I'll join you as soon as I wrap things up in a few days." Despite feeling a twinge of regret, I understand that work comes first, so I offer him my full support. After he leaves, I tear up my boarding pass and turn around. I decide to return to the office and see for myself. I want to see which blind, brainless company is negotiating a major project with a company I acquired hours earlier at dawn, and how it has the nerve to bypass me, the current CEO. They have chosen to approach a man who is nothing but a CEO in name only.

I went abroad for three years to build a lab and save my husband's company from collapse. After endless struggles, I finally cracked the technical problems and developed the core technology. When I returned home with that breakthrough, I saw the airport video board plastered with the same impossible headline—my husband was getting married. I felt a hot, furious ache and took a taxi straight to the venue. … A woman who had cared for our household for years blocked me at the gate and sneered. "Who do you think you are, showing up at the Stone family's wedding? Get out of here, or I'll get security to throw you out." For a moment, I stood rooted, but then the bride appeared, walking out of the villa in a wedding gown. It was the woman Adrian Stone had once told me was dead—his first love, Evelyn Sutton. She wore my wedding ring on her finger and looked at me with pure contempt. "You want to make a scene at my wedding?" she said. "If you do, you're really asking for trouble. My husband, Adrian, won't hesitate to take care of you." I folded my arms and let out a cold laugh. "Adrian's getting married? Funny, I don't recall getting an invitation."

A month before our wedding, my fiance decides to father a child with his late best friend's widow. I don't lose it or make a scene. Instead, I calmly send him a text. "There are plenty of ways for her to become a mother. Why does she have to have your baby?" A second later, he calls and accuses me of being unreasonable. "My best friend entrusted her to me on his deathbed. She doesn't know anyone here, and I'm all she has. Why is it such a big deal if I have a child with her? Besides, we're using IVF. It's not like we're sleeping together, and I'm still going to marry you." I smile as I text him back. "Don't bother. I'm marrying someone else, so you two can have each other."

On the day I decide to divorce Evan Beckett, I still make lunch and deliver it to him in person. After he takes a sip out of the soup, he widens his eyes in surprise. "The soup's pretty decent! I'll have it again tomorrow!" I nod in response. "Sure thing. I'll teach the housekeeper how to cook it later." That's when Evan lifts his head to look at me. "You got something going on tomorrow?" "Let's get a divorce, Evan." I sound very calm; so calm that everyone, including Evan, thinks that I'm throwing another tantrum. But what they don't know is that I'll be traveling to the ends of the earth with a research team, where we'll be based in for eternity, in 12 hours.

I went to the bank to report a lost debit card. The teller casually asked, "Sir, there's a recurring patent royalty payment under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?" Stunned, I froze. "What patent royalties?" The screen revealed that one of the accounts showed a quarterly deposit of $300 thousand in patent royalties. My mind went blank for a full three seconds. Then I remembered that, five years ago, my wife, Danica Pearson, had handed me a stack of documents, saying it was part of the company registration process. She said I "only understood technology, not business", effectively turning me into a figurehead consultant. I took a deep breath and told the teller, "Link it to the new card. From now on, transfer every payment directly to my personal account." That night, while Danica was overseas on a business trip, she booked the earliest flight home. At 2 a.m., she pounded on my bedroom door.

It is our fifth wedding anniversary, and Andrea Pietranera—my husband and the Don of the Pietranera Famiglia—reserves the whole top-floor restaurant just for me. He pulls me close by the waist as the melodious violin music plays in the background, leans down to kiss my earlobe, and whispers that tonight belongs to just the two of us. I look up with a smile and reach into my pocket, my hand brushing against the paper inside—my pregnancy test report. Just as I'm about to say something, Andrea's phone, lying on the edge of the table, lights up with a new message from a contact saved as "E." "I'm pregnant." Andrea stiffens for a moment, then quickly flips his phone over. He smiles gently and says, "I have some urgent Famiglia matters I need to deal with at the moment. I will make a quick call and be right back, Amore." He stands up and walks down the hallway, disappearing around the corner. He deliberately lowers his voice, but I can still hear him clearly. "I'll accompany you for your prenatal checkup tomorrow." He returns a moment later. He then smiles and gently kisses me on the cheek. He has arranged fireworks for me just outside the window—yet as they bloom, my heart is gradually withering. I return to my seat after the fireworks display and down the glass of red wine. I then take out my phone and message my mentor. "I want to be part of the confidential project you told me about last time." "You sure about this, Carina? If you sign the NDA for this project, you'll be wiped from all public records and have no contact with the outside world for at least five years." "I've thought this through. I'll report for duty by the day after tomorrow evening at the latest."

As the project lead, I was supposed to receive an annual bonus of $28,000. However, my wife transferred all the money to her newly hired male assistant and simply tossed me a supermarket gift card instead. “There’s $30 on this card. Buy whatever you want. I’m pretty generous, aren’t I?” I was stunned. “Joy, my mother needs that money for her surgery. You can’t be serious!” She sneered and said, “Why waste money on someone who’s dying anyway? At most, I’ll give you $700 to pick out a nice coffin.” Looking at her smug face, I smiled as well. Joy probably forgot that although she held all the company shares, the core patents of the company were registered under my personal name. I immediately sent a message to my lawyer. [Starting today, I’m releasing all patents in my name for free!]

When Ingrid Stewart, the prettiest woman in the factory, got dragged into an abandoned warehouse by a hooligan named Edmund Holloway, I didn't rush after them with a brick in my hand, unlike my past self in the previous life. Instead, I went to the nearest police station right away. In my previous life, I sustained heavy injuries in order to save Ingrid from Edmund. The Stewarts decided to marry her to me so that they could repay my life debt. After our marriage, I treated Ingrid with utmost sincerity, but all I received in return was her resentment. On the night the rundown apartment we lived in was on fire, I rushed into the inferno to push Ingrid and our son out of danger. In return, a beam crashed down on me. When I raised my head, I saw Ingrid dragging our son toward Edmund. Then, she said to me icily, "This is all your fault, you stupid coward! You're the reason why Edmund and I weren't able to get together for so many years!" Edmund guffawed loudly as well. "Right, I forgot to tell you that your son, whom you've loved for 18 years, is actually my child!" In the end, I kept coughing up blood because I inhaled too much smoke. Just like that, I died a gruesome death in the fire. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Ingrid gets harassed by Edmund. In this life, I choose to grant Ingrid and Edmund's wish of staying together.

After I become successful in life, I sue my wife, Hazel Cooper, also known as the woman who had supported me through thick and thin. She gets down on her knees and pleads with me tearfully not to divorce her, only for me to shove her away. My neighbors call me an ungrateful bastard. They keep spitting at me and throwing feces at my doorstep. Even the Internet users gang up on me and bully me on the Internet. But when the court trial is over, everyone kneels before me, looking extremely remorseful.

The day before we were supposed to get married, I found out my fiancé, Bradley Bigham, was cheating on me with my best friend, Carla Fralin. So I shoved him into a tub of disinfectant and scrubbed him down three times. Then I posted Carla's intimate photos online, and they spread like wildfire. What I never expected was that my mother, Roxie Boyce, would get so worked up that she ended up completely paralyzed, pushing our already struggling family to the brink of financial ruin. Just as I was ready to drag them all down with me, Bradley's archrival, Connor Magder, saved me. "You're going to ruin your own life over a scumbag and a tramp? Don't be afraid. I'll be by your side from now on." I thought I'd finally been saved. In our third year of marriage, I was holding a pregnancy test, ready to surprise him. That was when I happened to see him on a video call with my ex-fiancé. Connor's eyes were full of complicated emotions. "I'll definitely be at your wedding. As long as Carla is happy with you, these years I've spent with Ariana will have been worth it." I froze where I stood, the blood in my veins running cold. When Connor looked up and saw me, his eyes filled with wariness. He assumed I'd raise hell like I had three years ago, until things spiraled completely out of control. Instead, I stepped in front of the computer's camera and said calmly, "Congratulations on your upcoming wedding. I wish you a lifetime of happiness together."

It was the eighth year of my marriage. As I was driving my daughter to school, I took a call on speaker. "Is this Mr. Andrew Benedict? Your wife, Ms. Clara Miller, left her diamond ring in our executive suite." My hands froze on the wheel. Andrew was my husband. Clara was my best friend. I rushed to my brother's office, desperate to prove it was a mistake. He didn't even look up from his desk. He wasn't surprised at all. "Summer, drop it," my brother, Aaron Walter, said calmly. "They have a child together now. Just pretend you don't know. "He lied to you to spare your feelings," he added. "We all kept quiet for your own good." I felt my blood cold as it ran through my veins. "He's right, Summer," a soft voice chimed in from the couch. "Don't blame Clara. You're both mothers. You need to understand her side." It was Olivia Walter, my sister-in-law. The three of us used to call ourselves inseparable. Now she was asking me to pity the mistress and the bastard. In family, friendship, and love, I was the only outsider.